Joanne Rock - What The Magnate Wants

Dropping the box onto the couch cushion, he held the ring in one hand and took her palm in the other. The shock of his warm fingers on her skin caught her off guard.

“I can’t wear that.” She sat across from him, their knees bumping while his thumb rested in the center of her palm.

Awareness sparked deep inside her, a light, leaping feeling like a perfectly executed cabriolé jump. Her heart beat faster.

A slow smile stretched across Quinn’s face, transforming his features from ruggedly handsome to swoon-worthy.

“We agreed on an engagement. Don’t you think it makes more sense to use the ring we have than to go shopping for a new one?”

The insinuation that she was being impractical helped her to see past that dazzling smile.

“I never would have guessed your brother would spend a small fortune on a ring for a woman he never met.” She edged out of his grip. “I thought he was a romantic, not completely certifiable.”

Quinn’s smile faded. “I assure you, Cameron is neither.” He set the ring on the steamer trunk beside her. “I’ll let you decide whether or not to wear it in the morning. And in the meantime, I’d better let you get some rest.”

He rose to his feet, leaving a priceless piece of jewelry balanced on last month’s Vogue.

“Quinn.” She stood to follow him to the door then reached back to grab the ring so she could return it. “Please. I don’t feel right keeping this here.”

He turned to face her as he reached the door, but made no move to take the glittering ring.

“If you were my bride-to-be, I would spare no expense to show the world you were mine.” His blue eyes glowed with a warmth that had her remembering his kiss. Her breath caught in her chest and she wondered what it might be like for him to call her that for real.

Mine.

“I’m—” At a total loss for words. “That is—” She folded the diamond into her hand, squeezing it tightly so the stones pressed into her soft skin, distracting her from her hypnotic awareness of this man. “If you insist.”

“It’s a matter of believability, Sofia.”

“It’s only for one month.” She wasn’t sure if she said it to remind him or herself.

“We’ll work out the details tomorrow.” He reached to smooth a strand of hair from her forehead, barely touching her and still sending shimmers of pleasure along her temple and all the way down the back of her neck. “Sleep well.”

She didn’t even manage to get her voice working before he was out the door again, leaving her alone in a suddenly too empty apartment.

Squeezing the ring tighter in her fist, she waited for the pinch of pain from the sharp edges of the stones. She needed to remember that this wasn’t real. Quinn McNeill had only agreed to this mad scheme to clean up his brother’s mess. Any hint of attraction she felt needed to be squashed immediately, especially since Quinn was cut from the same mold as her father—focused on business and the accumulation of wealth. Her world was about art, emotions and human connections.

Her mother had taught her that people did not fall into both camps. In Sofia’s experience it was true. And since she wanted her own relationships to be meaningful bonds rooted in shared creativity and ideals, she was willing to wait until she had more time in her life to find the right partner. Romance could not be rushed.

“It’s only for a month,” she said aloud again, forcing herself to set the engagement ring on the hallway table.

Surely she could keep up her end of a fake engagement for the sake of appearances? She’d made countless sacrifices for her career, from dancing on broken toes to living away from her family on the other side of the globe to train with Russian ballet masters.

Ignoring the sensual draw of Quinn McNeill couldn’t possibly be more difficult than those challenges.

Yet, even as she marched herself off to bed, she feared she was lying to herself that she could keep her hands off the man anywhere near as easily as she’d set down the ring.

Four

Quinn pulled an all-nighter, working straight through until noon the next day. He rearranged his schedule to accommodate more time in the city over the upcoming month. He’d avoided the office and shut off his phone for all but critical notifications, not ready to address the questions about his relationship with Sofia until they’d worked out a game plan.

Sofia.

Shoving away from the overly bright screen on his laptop, Quinn leaned back into the deep leather cushioning of his office chair. His grandfather’s old chair, even after decades of use, seemed to retain class and grace, a steady touchstone in a career that constantly demanded invention and innovation to stay competitive. Eyes wandering to the corner of his walnut desk, he absently skimmed over the open newspaper. Even with news apps on his phone, Quinn still read the paper every morning, feeling a sense of connection to the ink and paper. And he couldn’t ignore what was printed in today’s society section—a photograph of the lithe ballerina.

She hadn’t been far from his thoughts all morning and now was no different as he shut down his computer and headed out of the office building to his chauffeur-driven Escalade. And damn if Sofia didn’t continue to dance through his mind as he rode toward the site of McNeill Resorts’ latest renovation project in Brooklyn. Quinn powered down his laptop and stored it in the compartment beside the oversize captain’s chair. He tried to prep himself for the inevitable confrontation with Cameron, who was slated to be on site in their grandfather’s absence.

Even though his brother had walked away from his would-be ballerina bride yesterday, Quinn guessed that Cameron would still have something to say about the turn of events after he’d left. And though Quinn hoped he’d quelled some of Sofia’s father’s anger, he knew the engagement would make waves with his brother. If anything, Quinn hoped that this would make Cameron come to his senses about tying the knot with a woman he’d never met.

Running his hand through thick hair, Quinn let out a low sigh. He needed Cameron to be rational today.

He pressed the switch for the intercom as the Escalade rolled to a stop.

“I shouldn’t be long, Jeff,” Quinn told his driver before he stepped out of the vehicle in front of the converted bank on Montague Street in Brooklyn Heights. Coffee in hand, he headed onto the site, his well-worn leather shoes crunching against the gravel and construction dust.

Glancing at the scaffolding on the building, he nodded at the progress as the smell of fresh-cut wood and the sounds of hammering filled the air.

“Morning, Giacomo.” Quinn nodded to the site foreman before picking up a hard hat to enter the building.

Giacomo—a sought-after project manager who specialized in historic conversions—gave a silent wave, his ear pressed to his cell phone while he juggled a coffee and a tablet full of project notes. The guy pointed to the roof of the building, answering Quinn’s unasked question about his brother’s whereabouts. Out of respect, the only time the McNeills showed up at each other’s job sites was to talk family business.

Or, in this case, family brides.

Mood darkening as he anticipated an argument, Quinn climbed the temporary stairs installed during the renovation stage to connect the floors that had been stripped down to the studs. A swirl of cement dust kicked up from some kind of demo work on the second floor, and he quickened his steps. He passed some workers perched on scaffolding outside the fourth floor, debating the merits of salvaging some of the crumbling granite façade. Quinn had practically grown up on job sites like this, frequently travelling around the country with his grandfather to learn the business.